Truth Behind Drawings
by mrsjenna
Summary: Edward Cullen was institutionalized seven years ago, he hasn't left the hospital for six and a half years. His doctors are suggesting intense treatment, his parents have hope, and his therapist thinks it's useless. Edward couldn't care less, he gave up a long time ago. What he lives and breathes for are his drawings of a woman people think doesn't exist. AH, a bit OC.
1. Brown Crayon

I don't own Twilight

**Brown Crayon**

**"This is bullshit!" **

"Edward, relax!" Dr. Carter said with pleading eyes. His hand reaching into his lab coat slowly, hoping I was too far gone to notice.

And I was.

"No!" I picked up the chair I was sitting on, and threw it at the doctor. He's been working here over thirty years, so the cock sucker dodged the chair.

"Now are going to fucki-" Warmth spread through my body, my legs suddenly feeling like jello and eye lids too heavy to keep open. I looked down at my arm, a huge fucking niddle was pressed in," Mother fucker."

**...**

I woke up from my "nap" a few hours later, I was spitting fucking flames. I jumped up from the hard bed, and started to throw around my shit hoping to get the cock sucker's attention. Nothing good was going to come out of it, but I wanted to piss him off. Or get him annoyed enough to come in here so I punch in his ugly face. My break down didn't last long, partly because there wasn't much to throw. All I had in the room was a plastic chair, a bed, and small desk...which was attached to the wall.

_Fuck it. _

I'm going for the desk. I ran over to the desk.

I stopped trying to pull the fucker from the wall when I saw my _prize _there. I smiled looking at the thing, instead of one I got two.

"'Bout time," I pulled the chair into seating position, sat down , and begun my drawing.

People can say whatever the hell they want about me for almost punching a cock suckers' face in over a _brown crayon. _They don't understand.

* * *

"Edward?" I flinched hearing my name but didn't look at the fucker who called my name. I was almost finished with my drawing..

"Edward?" She tried again.

"What?" I hissed.

"Come on, its time for lunch."

I traced the outline of her body with an ivory crayon, I learned if I did that it gave her skin a slight glow.

"Not hungry, Gewn." I was lying, I'm fucking starving. But everything else comes second when I'm drawing.

"Please Edward. They're serving meatballs," Gwen cooned," Your favvvvorite."

I sighed looking at my picture, there was still a lot that needed to be done. Like _her _eye's needed more depth, the pattern on her dress needed to be colored, the lines were a bit uneven, the-

"Come on, you can finish your drawing later."

"Fine," I mumbled bitterly.

I hated eating, it only reminded me that I wasn't eating with her. We ate together every day. Then again, everything I did reminded me I wasn't with her.

The meatballs here were the best, (besides her's, of course) everything else is shit. On Toco day the meat was underdone, Hamburger day its _over _done, and on meatloaf day...fuck, I don't even think it was meatloaf. It's disgusting shit.

* * *

"Hello, Edward." Maggie greeted.

I nodded," Hi."

"How's your day going so far?"

"Fine."

"That's good, its good to be fine." She looked down at a piece of paper on her lap," But you're not."

"Is that so?"

"Edward, I know about your outburst earlier today."

_Of course you do._

When I didn't respond she continued," Why did snap today?"

"You know why."

"I know what you snapped about, but _why _did you snap."

"Her eyes," I mumbled," They're brown. I won't use any other color but brown!"

"How did it make you feel? Not having the brown crayon."

"Pissed."

"Can you tell me why?" She asked.

I thought for a second," I've spent two years in this shit hole, the only thing that ever made me slightly happy was my drawings of her. If I can't have this_ one_ thing then..." I trailed off, anger running through me at the thought.

"Calm down, Edward."

"I am calm."

Maggie turned the page of her notebook and started to write, for a minute I just sat there staring blankly at the women.

Maggie is in her late forties or early fifties. Her light red hair always twisted into a tight bun, her gray hair seemed to be more noticeable from the last time I saw her. I liked Maggie, so far she's been the best theriphist. She doesn't press questions like the other four.

Maggie dropped her pen onto the desk and folder her arms on the desk, she stared at me, waiting for me to break the silence.

"What?"

Her dark blue gaze softened," Edward..."

She took a deep breathe in," Edward, she isn't real. Sometimes the mind ma-"

And I fucking snapped.

I quickly stood up and picked up the chair I was sitting in and flung it over Maggie's head.

She gasped, her eyes wide," Help! Code grey, code grey!" She yelled.

Suddenly two tall and buff looking men stormed into the room dressed in white. I picked up another chair and flung it the men, they dodged it and ran over to me. In a split second they have me pinned to the wood floor, cheek pressed tightly ageist it.

A sharp sting from my lower back makes me yell in agony.

Then the pain was over and there is warmth.

Before I shut my eyes and give into the warmth I mumble to Maggie," _Isabella _is real..."

* * *

Obviously, nothing major has happened during this chapter. For the next few chapters nothing major will happen. I like to ease into the unpleasantness.

Next Update:

This weekend earliest, next Friday at latest.


	2. Pig-tails

**A/N: It's not a very long chapter, I know. I wanted to update _something. _Future chapters should, hopefully, come out more quickly and will be much, much longer! **

**March 24, 2001**

"Listen Edward," Isabella Swan leaned onto the table, to rest her head on her folded arms. She resembled a young girl so much when she did that, if not for her cold, taunting eyes I wouldn't have thought she was a day over sixteen.

"I know you don't want to be here, so you should know I never wanted to come."

I fingered the old wooden table," Why did you?"

She raised her eyebrows, "Why did you?"

"I asked first," I retorted, chuckling softly.

Admittedly it wasn't as amusing as I am to playing it off; I figured it was probably polite to laugh. I have been on plenty of first dates to know when a girl is attempting coy or trying to be cute. From everything to Isabella's speech to the way she's dressed, anyone could easily tell that she's endeavoring the cute persona.

"I asked first."

I shrugged my shoulders," Fine." I smirked and looked away towards the group of men at the bar, trying to recall a supposedly hilarious memory while taking shots of liquor.

Looking away from a woman at this point in the conversation drives women mad, they get frustrated whenever they don't receive the attention they crave – especially if they're playing games.

"Fine." Her voice took on a lighter, more of a mocking, tone.

I looked back at the girl and noticed an odd glint in her dark eyes, like she was only humoring me.

"Excuse me, are you mimicking me?"

"Excuse me, are you mimicking me?"

"How old are you?" I asked, astonished that she was acting so childish.

I was taken aback by her sudden childlike behavior, don't woman under twenty-one try to be more "sophisticated" whenever on a date with an older man? Isabella, being the odd fruit, openly shows her age; pig tails, flower pattern dress, and ballet shoes.

"Old enough, by conventional standards." She suddenly picked up my barely touched milkshake and begun to sip loudly from the straw.

The apt observer that I am, I realized she wasn't trying to start a playful argument from stealing my milkshake. She didn't seductively wrap her lips around the straw and suck slowly, like my ex-girlfriend often did to indicate what she desired. Isabella sat across from me, taking in large gulps of the drink, acting as if nothing had happened - like the drink had been her's to drink, or that I offered for her to have it. I wasn't sure whether I liked this trait yet.

I ignored Isabella's outlandish behavior, though I craved the milkshake more than thought I did, and started to make the typical first date conversation.

After a several failed attempts to learn her position academically, I came to the concision I will only received vague answer and half-answers. I was about ready to just tell her to "Fuck off" when I remembered my good breeding. "_Edward, no matter how impolite a girl might be. Never swear, hit, or hate her._" I quickly controlled myself and changed the subject in fear of breaking my morals. My mind flashed briefly to an early childhood memory, when I was six and slapped the neighbor's daughter for kicking me in the shin. Despite the right, in my opinion, to retaliate – my parents were ashamed that I would behavior like an animal. The look in my mother's eyes still hunts me today, never – dead or not – would I want to see/think of my mother wearing that look of utter disappointment.

"How's Rosalie?"

Rosalie and I had a special relationship. We constantly took cheap jabs at one another and enjoyed the other's failures. To be honest, I really don't care if Rosalie was crying her eyes out at this moment, I only asked because it was a topic that didn't involve Isabella's personal life and a topic that we both knew about.

Isabella shrugged her thin shoulders," Beats me. Rose isn't speaking to me..."

She licked the remainder of the milkshake off her lips and spoke again," That's why I'm here, actually. After months of unanswered texts and voice-mails she finally contacts me...sadly, it was about you. Although she didn't say it, I knew. If I didn't go on this date, she would continue to ignore me. Best friends, ya' know? Gatta do tough things for 'em…but this sacrifice – my precious time – is little compared to what I did."

"What did you do?" I asked, intrigued.

Her thin, faint eyebrows pulled together and her eyes narrowed," None of your business...besides, it's not "proper" date talk, is it?"

She smirked.

I smiled back.

**_October 22, 2011_**

I traced the pigtails again, adding more strokes to certain places. Isabella's hair, although brown, had different tones of brown. It starts light but ends darker and thicker, especially in the curls.

"Isabella," I murmured.


End file.
